


Dark Lady

by Tazzy_Ladynero



Category: The Crow - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Murder, Torture, Violence, mentioned rape, not a good story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tazzy_Ladynero/pseuds/Tazzy_Ladynero
Summary: Dark Lady has a bone deep ache in her soul and a list she's checking off.





	Dark Lady

*Dark Lady laughed and danced

And lit the candles one by one*----- Cher “Dark Lady”

 

 

Cold rain pounded mercilessly on the dark city as if attempting to cleanse it of the decay of cruelty and corruption. Windows glowed with a false friendliness that allowed a person to hope for comfort within. The numerous creatures forced onto the streets by the evil that had seeped into the very soul of the city were huddled in doorways, under flimsy cardboard boxes, or crowded in the few shelters offered to the homeless. Lightning arced across the black sky, briefly illuminating it before thunder struck the collection of steel and stone with a deafening boom.

A lone figure sat on a square rock in a graveyard nestled in the heart of the city, unconcerned about the rain that had long since drenched her to the skin. A soft smile caressed a pale face that was mostly hidden by dark hair, and her hand dropped from her knees to gently run fingers over the name carved into the granite. She tilted her head to one side in a bird like manner and slowly turned to face the solemn stone angel who was guarding another soul's eternal rest.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing in a graveyard on a night like this," she remarked, regarding the angel, thoughtfully. She shrugged, causing the trenchcoat of ebony leather to creak slightly with the movement. "I belong here with my beloved Jonathan. They took both him and my life in the same instant. All of our hopes of owning a nice house in the country, having kids, and growing old together were shattered by them."

Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested a cheek on the soaked black jeans with water running down her face, a poor substitute for the tears she could no longer shed. "Two of the three have already paid, and soon, the last will pay as well." The words emerged into the cold night air on a plume of fog that quickly was absorbed into the night as if no one other than the angel was supposed to know about the promise. She grinned and looked up at the angel, excitement dancing in her midnight blue eyes with a touch of madness. "Would you like to hear what happened?" Only the sound of rain and the occasional rumble of thunder answered her and she closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift back to the previous night.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps it had been luck, perhaps instinct had lead her to the dingy and run down bar where a person took her life in her own hands just by walking through the door. She had watched as an all too familiar face enter the place several minutes before, yet for some reason she hesitated entering.

_ *If you act like you belong, then you'll be fine. If you let your fear show, kiss your ass goodbye. * _

Startled, she looked around for Jonathan but realized with a twinge of sorrow that it was only a memory of his voice that had comforted her. She straightened the leather trench coat that fell to her ankles and breathed the lingering scent of Old Spice cologne that Jonathan had always worn. When she had dressed all in black for tonight, the coat that had belonged to Jonathan had called to her, begging her to wear it, and she slipped it on.

Tossing her raven hair out of her face, she marched across the street with steady, determined steps, and entered the bar. The noise had dropped at her entrance and several eyes swiveled to rake her from head to toe. She stared back with a cold gaze and marched back to a dark table where she had spotted the man, her coat flaring about her legs as she walked. Calling the monster that sat at the table a "man" was an overstatement. He was twenty at the oldest with several silver piercings decorating his face, the most distinct being the large ring in his nose reminding her of a bull, but under the grime it was hard to tell his exact age. His clothes, which was a pair of baggy pants, a tee-shirt, and a flannel shirt tied around his waist, were just as dirty as the rest of him and his head had been shaved save for a few scraggly hairs on his chin that were supposed to be a goatee. Scattered on the table were several empty glasses, proclaiming his determination to drowned what few brain cells he had in alcohol as quickly as possible.

As she approached, he staggered towards a back door. Deliberately, she followed him out where she found him pissing on the brick wall across from the bar. From the wet patches up and down the garbage-strewn alley, he was not the first to use it as a restroom. She grabbed a piece of wood and jammed it under the door handle, a crude but effective lock, to ensure them some privacy. Turning, she found him trying to zip up the stained jeans as he staggered towards her and the door.

"G'outta m'way," he slurred, glaring at her with unfocused brown eyes as he gestured for her to move. The sudden sweep of his arm nearly upset his precarious balance, but she didn't move except to allow a feral grin spread across her face. "Are ya deaf, bitch?" 

When she still refused to answer, he pawed at his clothes and finally withdrew a Colt .45 from behind his back where it had been hidden by the shirt around his waist. Waving it in the air, he lowered it at her chest, but before he could pull the trigger, a powerful kick knocked it out of his hand, sending it flying down the alley to land in a puddle.

He stood there, staring at her with a shocked expression on his face, and she realized that this was probably the first time someone actually resisted him. Dropping into a crouch, her leg swung out and hooked his legs, sending him crashing to the pitted cement. As she stood up and walked over to him, she realized with a disappointed pout, that he had hit his head on the ground and knocked himself out.

_ *Maybe he'll be stubborn,* _ she mused, hopefully, as she knelt next to him and started rummaging through his many pockets.  _ *That would be very nice* _ . She pulled out a slender butterfly knife and dropped it next to her where it was soon joined by two more knives, five ammo clips for the Colt, and several bags of white powder. Her search also revealed a Beretta and about half a dozen ammo clips, the later went into her own pockets while the Bereta was slipped into the waistband of her jeans. Thus armed, she straddled his waist, effectively trapping his arms, and reached up to slap his face several times.

He awoke with a startled yelp and struggled to get free _. _

_ *Thank you for dragging me to the gym with you, Jonathan.* _ She reached over and grabbed the butterfly knife, flipping it open with a practiced ease. 

"We have much to discuss, Sweetheart," she murmured, her voice a soft caress better suited for a bedroom than a dirty alley.

"Go fuck yourself!" With no change in her expression, her fist lashed out and there was a crunch as blood flew out of his broken nose. He yelped again, this time in pain instead of surprise, and she smiled, dragging a soft finger down his unshaven cheek.

"Wrong answer, darling. Now you will answer my questions about your friends." Her voice never changed and he glared at her, defiantly. "One of your friends had a scar running through his eye." She illustrated her words with the tip of the knife, gently dragging it vertically down his right eye and he flinched at the touch of the cold steel. "And the other had foot long spikes running across his head in a Mohawk with almost as many piercings as you. Where can I find them?"

He sneered, all trace of drunkenness gone except for the reek of alcohol on his breath. "What's it to ya?" His arrogance had returned, but there was still a slight wariness in his eyes.

She sighed softly. "Remember, little one," she whispered, "Last month, you and your two friends broke into an apartment where a very happy couple lived."

He sneered. "You're crazy, bitch! I don't know nothin' 'bout it."

"Apparently, there was a hooker you use to visit there, but when the man, Jonathan, told you to get out, your agenda changed from fucking to violence," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Spike raped and beat me while you and Scar beat up Jonathan, the man I loved. Then, you whipped out this nice little knife here and stabbed him in the stomach before darling Scar shot him." Her voice faltered, slightly, as the memories rushed forward in crystal clarity. "Now, where can I find Scar and Spike?"

Raw, naked fear covered his face, and she had never seen anyone with eyes that large outside of a cartoon. They looked like any minute now they were going to fall out of his head because they were bulging too far out. "I…if I talk, they'll kill me!"

"And I'll make you suffer so much that you will long for Death's gentle embrace, if you don't," she purred, drawing the knife down his face, leaving a tiny scarlet trail behind. He whimpered in terror and she tapped the knife against a ring stuck through his eyebrow. "I wonder. Think I can cut out each of your piercings before you pass out from either shock or blood loss?"

That phrase uttered so calmly and casually broke his nerve. He babbled while she gently cut his face with the knife to "discourage" lying, but the truth was she wanted him to hurt as much as Jonathan had. By the time she had learned that Spike was usually found at his girlfriend, Lilah's, apartment, where it was, and that Scar sold drugs and weapons out of a dockside warehouse, his face was a mass of blood. She had played "connect the piercings" with the knife and his skin was barely visible between the cuts.

"Thank you, Darling," she announced, leaning back. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes, never seeing her raised arm until she had rammed the knife through his throat, severing both his jugular vein and vocal chords. "Say 'hello' to Satan when you see him and let him know two more will be joining the party soon." Casually, she stood up and left him thrashing on the ground as he slowly suffocated on his own blood, unable to call for help.

Strolling down the street, she closed her eyes and let the feeling of regret wash over her. Why did she decide to become the judge, jury and executioner for these three? What gave her that right? And why was the last of that night after Jonathan was killed missing from her memories? She ran a frustrated hand through her tangled curls, but the answers refused to appear.  _ *Will I be condemned to Hell for this?* _ she mused.  _ *Will I ever see my beloved Jonathan again?* _

Her heart lurched at the thought of never seeing him in whatever place waited beyond death, and a stray tear slipped from her eye to trace a path down her cheek. An immense wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her and she staggered against a brick building as it carried her along. Tears streamed down her cheeks, burning like acid, and an inhuman moan escaped her black lips. She hugged her chest tightly and let the grief escaper through her tears. For some reason, she hung onto the pain and anger that Jonathan’s death had inflicted on her soul, to use it as motivation to keep going on her chosen path.

Finally, the tears stopped and she wiped furiously at her face, removing the last remains of hr grief. She would have to wash her face before she could face the last two, because a runny nose and red-rimmed eyes never intimidated anyone. With a sigh, she pushed away from the building and started towards Lilah’s apartment once more.

 

* * *

 

“Of course, Bull was drunk and weak, not at all like his friends,” she mused, glancing up at the silent angel. “He was fun to hurt, and in a way, I was glad about the regret afterwards.” She sighed and glanced up at the sky with the rolling inky clouds. The rain had stopped sometime during her story, leaving the air smelling crisp and clean. Everything sparkled in the dim moonlight, reminding her of a fairy tale setting where the prince always saved the princess before riding off to live happily ever after.

_ *Only this fairy tale is really a nightmare.* _ Shaking away that train of thought, she crossed her legs on the tombstone and folded her hands in her lap. “Let me tell you what happened next.”

 

* * *

 

She easily found her way to Lilah’s apartment and stared at the building in disbelief. Graffiti was painted over every available surface and nearly all the windows were boarded over. Those that weren’t covered had huge holes gaping in the glass where something had smashed through either on its way into the building or on its way out. Carefully picking her way around the garbage that littered the sidewalk, both human and human made, she slipped down the alley and found the rusty fire escape that clung to the building like a desperate child gripping its mother.

_ *Let’s see, Bull said that Lilah lived on the right side of the fire escape on the fifth floor,* _ she mused, leaping up to grasp the bottom rung of the access ladder in her hands. Casually, she swung herself up onto the ladder and easily climbed it to the fifth floor, keeping a casual eye out for nosy neighbors. Aside from a few rats scurrying down the alley below, she didn't see anyone and she eased the window open. 

She discovered that she was in what passed for a bedroom in this slum, and the bed, which was no more than a couple mattresses tossed on the floor, was being used. From what she could tell, the girl was not really in the spirit of things, but the needles that were scattered around testified that the girl was not bored.

The ominous sound of a Beretta being cocked interrupted the action and the man spun around to stare at her in disbelief. He was definitely the Spike from her memories, except the foot long spikes were drooping and there was a few more piercings on his face.

"Little Girl, you be good and stay right there," she said, gesturing for Spike to move away from the girl. "I have to talk to your boy toy for a while." The girl seemed to nod before she rolled over, pulling the covers up over her head. Perching on the windowsill, the Dark Lady had to resist the urge to just shoot Spike where he stood for what he did to her.

_ *If I kill him right out, he won't suffer like Jonathan did,* _ she argued. She motioned Spike towards the opposite side of the room and casually walked over to stand between him and his clothes. "I must confess that you are no more impressive a sight naked and fucking someone else than you were when you were raping me."

Recognition flickered in his eyes and all color drained from his face as he stared at her in disbelief. "But, you're…"

"Going to make you suffer for what you did," she interrupted, aiming the gun at him as she started towards. A shot rang out and she felt a slight tug at her left shoulder followed by a lance of fire embedding itself in her skin. Looking down, she saw blood ooze out of a hole and she slowly turned to find herself facing Lilah who was still aiming a tiny gun at her.  _ *So this is what it feels like to be shot,* _ she mused, smiling at Lilah.

"He's mine, an' I'm not gonna let ya have 'em without a fight," Lilah announced, her voice distant and her eyes unfocused proving that whatever drugs she had taken still had her in their grips. Casually, the Dark Lady raised her gun and shot Lilah in the shoulder. Whimpering, Lilah dropped her gun and collapsed to the bed with a hand clutching her injured shoulder.

Hands slipped under her arms to lace behind her neck, his arms forcing hers away from her body as he applied pressure on the back of her head, forcing it down. Baring her teeth in a grin, she suddenly leaned forward far enough to knock his balance off before throwing herself backwards. They crashed to the floor with her landing on top of him, knocking all the breath from his body and jarring his grip on her. She jammed her elbow into his ribs, trying to break or at least crack a few, and rolled to her feet, balancing on her toes as he slowly climbed to his feet, struggling to catch his breath. When they had hit the floor, she had lost her grip on the Beretta and it now rested in the distant corner behind Spike.

"You're gonna pay for that, bitch," he gasped, glaring daggers at her as he curled his fingers into claws.

Grinning, she blew him a kiss. "Love you too, Sugar," she purred, her eyes never leaving his face. 

With a guttural snarl, he lunged for her, his hands outstretched for her throat. She twisted to one side, feeling his hands just brush her throat as he rushed past her, and turned to face him as he sprung at her once more. Instead of avoiding him, she grabbed his wrists and allowed his momentum to take them across the room where the Beretta was. He slammed her into the wall and she felt the cheap plasterboard buckle behind her.

"I'm gonna kill ya and this time, I'm gonna make sure that you stay dead, bitch," Spike snarled, his face twisted into something inhuman.

She laughed, a cold, insane sound that filled the room. "I'm already dead," she stated, her voice as hard and as frozen as ice. "When Jonathan was killed, I died with him." She threw him away from her with a powerful heave and dove for the Beretta, scooping it up as she rolled to her feet. He froze at the sight of the gun pointing at him, and she grinned, madly, as she stood. "Now, we're gonna have fun." 

Casually, she lowered the gun and shattered his right knee with a well-placed bullet. Screaming, he collapsed to the floor, clutching his ruined knee as blood oozed out from around his fingers. Walking over to him, she brought the butt of the gun down on his head, rendering him unconscious.

Strolling over to where Lilah was still whimpering on the bed, she grabbed one of the stained blankets and wrapped it around Spike's limp form. Hoisting him over her shoulder, she calmly walked out of the cheap apartment, stopping only to scoop a sharp knife up off the floor, and headed for the roof. A quick glance at her left shoulder showed a bloody mess, but she could no longer see the injury, and as she thought about it, she realized that there wasn't any pain in that shoulder to distract her. For some reason, she thought that the lack of pain should disturb her, but it didn't, as if some instinct told her that this was how it was supposed to be. Shrugging slightly, she paused at the top of the stairs and kicked open the door that led to the roof. Humming to herself, she strolled over to the edge of the roof and dropped her burden with a loud thump.

_ *Let's see. What should I do to make him suffer?* _ She mused, glancing around the roof. Her eyes fell on a tall, sturdy antenna and she grinned, reaching down to grab the blanket. 

She dragged Spike over to the antenna and quickly unrolled him from the blanket, checking to make sure that he was still alive. She hated the thought that he might have smothered to death in the blanket, robbing him of the lingering pain she had promised him, but to her relief, he was still breathing. Pulling the knife out of the pocket she had stuffed it into, she quickly sliced the blanket into long strips and knotted them into a long rope. Grabbing two of the leftover strips, she bound his hands behind his back and tied his ankles together before looping the rope around his ankles. A casual glance around showed that the handles for the fire escape were only a few feet away from the antenna, and her improvised rope would definitely stretch that far. Grinning, she tossed the rope over the top of the antenna and then looped it through the handles of the fire escape. Carefully so as not to break the antenna, she pulled on the rope until Spike hung in the air by his ankles, swaying gently. She tied the rope as securely as she could around the fire escape and then approached Spike. Turning the antenna slightly, she positioned Spike so that he was hanging above ten stories of open air. 

"Time to wake up, Darling," she cooed, reaching out to slap his cheeks. After a few slaps, he woke with a moan, which turned into a scream as soon as his eyes were open.

"What are you doing?" he yelled, looking up at where she sat on the edge of the roof just to one side of his bound legs. "Get me down you crazy bitch!"

Reaching up, she gently ran a finger over one of the knots that bound his ankles. "Y'know, I'm not that good with knots so I can't guarantee that these will last long," she mused, thoughtfully. "Especially if you struggle."

"What do you want? Drugs? Money? Weapons?" he asked his voice sounding a bit desperate as a soft breeze sent him swaying again. "Whatever it is, I can get it for you. Just get me down from here."

"Ever see either of the 'Predator' movies?" she asked, idly turning the knife in her hands. "They were put out back in the Eighties and were really... interesting. Well, in both movies, they showed what was left over after the 'Predators' got done with their prey and it wasn't a pretty sight. Headless corpses that had been skinned and left to rot, hanging by their ankles." She laughed at the terrified look in his eyes and clapped her hands, joyfully. His face was starting to turn red from the blood flowing to his head, and she studied him carefully.

"One thing is for sure, you won't be needing these where you're going." With a flash of silver, she easily sliced off his privates, sending them to the alley below, and watched as the blood streamed down his body in rivers, his screams of agony echoing through the night. She stared at the scarlet trails that decorated his chest and ran up his face to drip onto the ground far below. "I didn't think there would be this much blood, but then I flunked anatomy and biology." 

His screaming had stopped and she looked down to realize that he had probably passed out from shock. "Ah well, ya win some, ya lose some." 

With a disgusted sigh, she cut through the makeshift rope and sent Spike plunging to the hard ground where he landed with a sickening thud. She slipped over the side and descended the fire escape, stopping on the metal landing on the first floor to admire the mess formerly known as Spike. Blood had splashed the brick walls and still more seeped out of the mangled body. With a grim smile, she carefully picked her way around the blood and gore and casually strolled down the street as the first rays of sun illuminated the sky.

 

* * *

 

Closing her eyes, she slid off the tombstone and sank to the muddy ground, resting her back against the carved granite. "And tonight, Scar will pay for his crimes," she whispered to the stone angel. 

She waited, almost expecting an answer, before climbing to her feet. She kissed her fingers and placed them on the letters that read  _ *Jonathan Darkson, Brother, Son, Husband, Friend. May his soul rest in peace with his Angel. _ * Standing, she turned with the wet leather flaring around her legs and walked out of the graveyard.

She walked for several minutes as the humidity that had saturated the air grew heavier, making her feel as if she was walking through water instead of air. Fingers of white lightning illuminated the rolling clouds briefly, and she realized that the break in the storm wasn't the end. It was gathering itself for another round, and a sad smile caressed her face. The perfect backdrop to a final confrontation, just like in a cheap horror movie. Good and evil facing off as a storm rages about them, threatening to destroy both with either the pounding rain or a bolt of lightning. A sudden idea occurred to her and she realized that this storm could help her just as much as hinder. With a grin, she picked up her pace and strolled towards the warehouse where she knew Scar would be.

By the time she arrived at the warehouse, the full moon that had peeked out in a break in the clouds had been completely covered by thick clouds that didn't allow even a stray sliver of light through. The wind had picked up, moaning like a damned soul as it rushed through the cluster of buildings, and she eased around the side of the warehouse. 

It was a three story building built right on the edge of the cement lined river, and a quick glance inside the dimly lit warehouse revealed that it was open with occasional catwalks crisscrossing the ceiling at various levels. A further exploration showed large crates stacked in random piles, reminding her of a maze, and she grinned as she finally came across a large dull gray box that had thick cables emerging from the top. The rusted padlock was easily knocked off with a large rock and she stared at the old fashioned fuses that lined the box.

_ *Okay, Angel, let me explain this one more time,* _ whispered Jonathan's voice in her ear.  _ *The large fuses are the main ones, and the smaller ones are for individual purposes. Dad had to drag me down into the basement more than one time when lightning blew a fuse in the house.* _ She smiled wistfully as her fingers curled around one of the three large fuses and she pulled it out, flinging it carelessly over her shoulder. Pulling another fuse out, she also tossed it behind her, and soon, all the fuses had been removed from the box, guaranteeing that there would not be any electricity in the warehouse.

"Let's play some 'Cat and Mouse', Scar," she whispered, a feral grin appearing on her face. "Meow." 

Carefully, she made her way over to a door and eased it open far enough to allow her to slip into the darkness as the door silently swung shut behind her.

In the dark, she could hear someone cursing as he banged into solid objects scattered around the warehouse and smiled as easily scaled a stack of wooden crates. A lone beam of light lanced through the warehouse as she quietly crept along the top of the crates towards the source of the noise. Soon she came across the final man she was looking for, his scar gleaming in the pale yellow light, and felt rage sweep through her. This was the one who had killed her Jonathan and had caused her unimagined sorrow. A loud caw caught her attention as well as that of Scar’s and she looked up as his flashlight pinned a large black crow in the light, calmly sitting in the rafters.

_ *Must have come in to get out of the storm and then Scar woke it with his banging around,* _ she mused with a careless shrug. Whatever had brought the bird into the warehouse was none of her concern. 

Crouching on top of the crates, her midnight blue eyes followed Scar as he continued to stumble around the crowded warehouse in the dark. Suddenly, the yellow beam from the flashlight grew dim before fading completely and she resisted the urge to laugh at his stupidity. There was a thunderstorm rolling through and he forgot to put fresh batteries in the flashlight, but it definitely worked to her advantage. It would hardly be fair for her to stalk him while he had a flashlight that could reveal her position at any given moment. A bright flash of lightning and a loud rumble of thunder preceded the pounding of rain on the roof high over their heads.  _ *No time like the present to begin.* _

“I just love thunderstorms, don’t you?” she remarked from her perch on top of the crates. “So violent and powerful, yet unexpected as well.” His swearing fell silent and she could make him out in the darkness, looking around with something in one hand while he held the useless flashlight in the other.

“Who are you?” he demanded, and she raised a surprised eyebrow at how in control he sounded. Well, there would be time to remedy that soon enough. “What do you want?”

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and filling the warehouse. “I want to play a simple game with you, Scar,” she announced in an innocent voice. "As for who I am, think back to an apartment and a happy couple you helped kill with your two friends, Bull of the Many Piercings and Foot Long Spike." She lept over Scar's head to land on another stack of crates, the subtle noise of her landing masked by the rain and thunder.

There was a loud noise of metal sliding against metal and she cocked her head, trying to identify it. Was he cocking a gun or slamming a fresh clip home? Shaking her head, she realized that she would find out sooner or later.

"So you're the one who did those idiots in," Scar mused, slowly walking through the crates and in a flash, she realized what he was doing. He wanted her to talk so he could figure out where she was by following her voice.  _ *Nice try, Darling, but Jonathan taught me too well at the paintball ranges.* _ "You have real style, lady. How 'bout we go into business together. I'll be the brains and you can be the brawn."

Clucking her tongue, she carefully slipped over the railing to the first set of catwalks and stood there, watching him. Her eye had fully adjusted to the dark and she could clearly see him as he prowled through some of the crates. "Why should I want to go into business with a piece of slime like you?" she remarked as scornfully as she could. "Enough talk. I hunger for action, Little Mouse."

Several shots echoed through the dark and she dropped to the grating of the catwalk, pressing herself against the metal as bullets whizzed through the air.  _ *Too close for comfort. Gotta get him off balance and not thinking clearly. He's too level headed right now.* _

As silently as possible, she rolled off the catwalk and landed once more on the wooden crates. Scampering towards the center of the warehouse where she had first seen Scar, she remembered that he sold weapons and drugs out of this place, and laughed again, deciding to see what kind of toys he had lying around. 

Finally, she came across several open crates and lightly dropped down next to them. The lids had been pried off to expose a variety of automatic rifles, some boxes of ammo, and various boxes of grenades packed around blades of all shapes and sizes. She scooped up a brace of throwing knives, draping it across her chest before grabbing two flash grenades shaped like hockey pucks and one regular egg-shaped one, stuffing the later and one of the former into her coat pocket. Scampering back up to the top of the crates, she pushed the button in the center of the flash grenade and lobbed it towards where she had last seen Scar prowling around. The second it left her fingers, she slipped off the crates and huddled against the floor with her eyes shut tightly and her hands pressed against her ears. There was a muffled whump followed by a cry of pain, and she returned to her perch on the crates.

_ *That must have hurt.*  _ Humming a nameless tune, she crept towards the whimpering and found Scar staggering around with his free hand covering his eyes. She paced him and watched him blunder into objects, firing towards any little noise. Drawing one of the throwing knives, she sent it flying past his ear to embed itself in a crate and dove to one side as he began firing wildly.

_ *Time to up the ante.* _ When the last echo had faded, she crept after Scar and grinned as she softly sang. "I can't explain you would not understand. This is not how I am. I have become comfortably numb." She leaped across to the opposite side of the aisle as he turned and fired at where she had just been. Crawling on her hands and knees, she paced him as he stumbled through the maze of crates and resisted the strong urge to laugh madly. She drew another knife and waited until he had turned his back on her. "Okay, just a little pinprick. There'll be no more…" She threw the knife as she let out a blood-curdling scream, sinking it into his shoulder, and he screamed in surprise and agony, their voices echoing through the darkness in a demonic harmony. Overhead, thunder rumbled as a flash of lightning briefly lit the interior.

He stumbled back against the crates, dropping his gun as he grabbed the knife sticking out of his shoulder. With a grunt, he yanked it out, sending a fresh stream of blood cascading down his arm to soak his shirt, and glared around him. "You'll pay for that, you psychopathic bitch!" he swore, shaking the knife at the ceiling.

"My, my, my. What big words you use," she remarked clucking her tongue again. "Do you know what they mean or do you even know how to use a dictionary?" With a cry of pure rage, he heaved the knife toward her and she rolled out of the way as it silently sliced through the air, clattering against one of the catwalks. "Tell me, why did you kill Jonathan Darkson? Was it for kicks or another reason?"

Scar dropped to his knees and fumbled in the dark for his gun. "Shouldn't you be asking why I killed both him and the bitch he was with?" he asked, scooping up the gun and aiming it about him in the dark, his injured arm hanging limp at his side. "That's right. I personally put a bullet in your head after I got done with lover boy."

She pressed her hands against her head as memories rushed forward, filling the blank spot in her mind after Jonathan's death…

**_Staring in disbelief as the flow of crimson stained Jonathan's sweatshirt before the gun was turned towards her. "Don't worry, bitch. You'll be with your lover boy soon enough," sneered the one with the scar before a flash of light filled her eyes. Feeling something punch her in the chest before a chill enveloped her, stealing her strength. Falling to the floor, she watched at the three left the apartment and she managed to reach out to grasp Jonathan's cold hand. A caw drew her attention to the window, which was open for some reason, and a large black crow was perched there. The darkness surrounding her, blinding her briefly. Opening her eyes to find herself standing in a field with someone dressed like a cowboy but with a skull for a head._ **

**_"You gotta go back and set things right. Then you can be with him," the strange figure told her and she understood. Turning away from the light, she walked back and found herself standing in the graveyard before Jonathan's grave…_ **

Her eyes were drawn to the crow perched in the rafters and it returned her gaze. Her questions finally had answers. It was Fate that had deemed her judge, jury and executioner for the murderers of Jonathan and herself, and once she had finished the job with Scar, she would be reunited with her Jonathan. The crow bobbed its head as if it could understand her thoughts and she nodded solemnly in return. Time to end this so she can be reunited with Jonathan.

She dropped down behind Scar and grabbed his injured shoulder, squeezing as hard as she could. He yelped in pain and she whirled him around to meet a vicious right hook, snapping his head to one side as he staggered into some nearby crates. "You never answered my question," she sang, tilting her head to one side to study him. "Why did you kill us?"

Scar grinned at her as he wiped a trickle of blood from his busted lip. "Seemed like a kick at the time," he remarked with no hint of regret in his voice. Without changing his expression, he lunged for her and they fell to the ground with him pinning her to the ground. "Looks like things are finally going my way, bitch." He grabbed a knife off the leather strap running across her chest and buried it in her stomach.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she felt the steel slice her skin and her hand fumbled for the grenades in her pockets. If she was going to die again, she was at least going to take this bastard with her. 

After what seemed like forever, her fingers wrapped around one of the grenades and she grinned at him as she pulled it out of her pocket. His jaw dropped at the sight of it and she shoved it in his mouth as she wedged her leg between them. Planting her foot in his stomach, she hooked the ring and the handle on her fingers before shoving him away with all her might. Both came away in her hand and she scrambled to get as far away as possible. She managed to reach the edge of the crates before there was a huge explosion behind her followed by several larger ones. The shock wave sent her slamming into the immobile wooden wall with enough force to stun her. Dazed, she slid to the ground and stared at the fire that was slowly spreading to the other crates. In the middle of the growing destruction was a headless body, announcing that justice had been served and she sighed, content, as her eyes drifted shut as the heat from the fire licked at her skin.

Soft lips on hers chased the inferno away and she opened her midnight blue eyes to find herself gazing on Jonathan's smiling face. "My Dark Lady," he whispered, cradling her face in his hands as he claimed another kiss from her. "How I missed you."

"Jonathan," she murmured, reaching up to run her fingers through his dark hair. "Let's go home." 

Laughing, Jonathan pulled her to her feet and together, they entered the light that vanished, taking the two lost souls back where they belonged.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Funny story about this one. Was in a Creative Writing class in college (2000-2003 years). In this class was two stereotypical punks and a stereotypical Goth. We had to write three short stories for this class that were to be reviewed by the class itself. Meaning the dozen kids in this class were reading each other's work. One of those three asked me straight up if I could write anything other than "Bubblegum fluff".
> 
> I took that as a challenge and turned this story in for my third story, not telling anyone it was a Crow Fan Fic until the last page.
> 
> Those three and the professor were the only ones who enjoyed it. Everyone else was horrified that I wrote something like this. I actually felt rather vindicated that I could evoke such a reaction from people.


End file.
